


Witness

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Biting, Bruises, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Hand Jobs, Love Hotels, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mirror Sex, Multiple Orgasms, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Sex, Size Kink, Violent Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-06 21:22:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13419903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: "Izaya tips his head, and lowers his lashes, and lets his lips curve up into a grin of victory as he meets Shizuo’s furious stare. Escape was never really part of the plan in the first place." When Izaya lures Shizuo into more than a fight they end up putting more on display than they expected to.





	Witness

Shizuo catches up with Izaya in front of the hotel.

He probably thinks this is coincidence. Izaya’s been doing his best to sell that idea, anyway; slipping around a turn several streets back, for example, and nearly tripping over the lip of a sidewalk as they darted across a street just in advance of the oncoming rush of a truck and the honking horn of a car. To anyone else Izaya is sure his retreat looks like the real thing, like the manic, desperate rush of a man too intoxicated on his own speed and dexterity to recognize when he’s outmatched; he thinks it might even look that way to Shizuo, even if the other really ought to know better after all the experience he’s had. But Izaya knows how persuasive he can be, and he knows how gullible Shizuo has proven even after nearly a decade of this back-and-forth; so when he clutches at the handle of the hotel door and swings himself around and inside just in advance of Shizuo’s reaching fingers, he’s reasonably confident the other thinks the business is a convenient attempt at an escape rather than the end goal Izaya has been aiming for since he tossed an empty soda can towards Shizuo’s head in the city park a mile behind them.

Izaya doesn’t pause for conversation or explanation to the staff behind the front desk, even when one of them shouts and starts to move as if to follow him as he bolts down the hallway at top speed. They’ll have their explanation soon enough in any case; and then there’s the rattle of the glass door slamming again the front wall, and “ _IZAYA!_ ” in Shizuo’s familiar growl, and Izaya can’t help but glance over his shoulder as the other approaches down the hall. The staff flinch back at once, giving over their concern over Izaya’s intrusion in exchange for staying entirely out of Shizuo’s way; Shizuo doesn’t so much as glance at them for the focus he has on his target. He’s glaring at the other from under the windswept tangle of his hair, his shoulders tipping forward like a warning for each drumbeat-heavy step he takes down the corridor in Izaya’s wake. Izaya looks to his face, their eyes meet for a heartbeat -- and then he flashes his teeth in a smile, and lifts his hand to gesture Shizuo in, and he turns to duck in past the door just to his left at the same moment that Shizuo rumbles over a growl so low with threat Izaya can feel it through the floor underfoot. Izaya moves past the door and into the space within in the span of two long strides; and behind him the hall shakes as Shizuo breaks into a full-speed run in pursuit.

There’s nowhere for Izaya to go. The room he’s slipped inside is narrow, laid out more in consideration of the rows of stalls along one side than for any kind of retreat; the walls are entirely interior, without even the frosted glass of a privacy window to suggest an improbable escape. The only means of exit is the door he’s just come through, the one that Shizuo is now sprinting towards; and no sooner has Izaya thought it than the weight flies open to ricochet hard off the tile of the wall behind it and Shizuo strides through at once. Izaya backs up from the entrance, moving back over the space until he can run himself up against the counter behind him, until he can lean back hard against the support of the ledge; and then he tips his head, and lowers his lashes, and lets his lips curve up into a grin of victory as he meets Shizuo’s furious stare.

Escape was never really part of the plan in the first place.

“ _Izaya_ ,” Shizuo hisses. His shoulders are heaving with the effort of his breathing; when he takes a step forward into the space to let the door swing shut behind him the impact of his shoe against the tile underfoot resonates like a wordless threat off the walls around them.

Izaya tips his head back to let his hair fall away from his face and to bare the line of his throat at one and the same time. “Shizu-chan,” he purrs. “What a coincidence running into you in a place like this. Do you regularly frequent this establishment?”

“Shut  _up_ ,” Shizuo growls, and this time when he moves it’s to lunge forward, to swallow the space between them in a pair of overlong strides. His approach is immediate, so sudden that he seems almost to teleport into the space in front of Izaya; his shadow falls in to darken the black of Izaya’s shirt to velvet shade. “You can’t run away from me now.”

“Funny,” Izaya says. “I didn’t think I was trying.” Shizuo bares his teeth in a hiss and reaches out, moving with the whip-quick speed his uncanny strength grants him to slam his fist in against the wall of the bathroom stall just next to Izaya’s head; the metal dents to the impact as if it’s paper, caving in to fit around the weight of Shizuo’s knuckles without hesitation, but Izaya doesn’t even tip his head to the side to dodge the blow, doesn’t so much as blink at the impact. He just keeps staring up at Shizuo looming over him, keeps his mouth curving up on the sharp edges of the smile he’s hiding against the dip of his lips.

“Are you planning to tear the bathroom apart to demonstrate your strength to me?” he asks. “I thought we were a bit past those kind of mating rituals, but if you feel the need…”

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Shizuo hisses, and leans in close towards Izaya in front of him. It’s supposed to be intimidating, Izaya is sure; he’s meant to lean back, to flinch away from the darkness in Shizuo’s eyes and the sharp edges of his teeth. Since he doesn’t Shizuo just presses in close against him, stepping nearer to pin Izaya bodily back against the lip of the counter as his forehead bumps against Izaya’s to press the fall of the other’s hair to his skin. “The only thing here I’m planning to destroy is  _you_.”

“Ooo,” Izaya hums, letting the sound spill to thrumming heat in the back of his throat and over his lips, a mere breath away from Shizuo’s bared teeth. “Go on, Shizu-chan, you know how I love it when you talk dirty to me.” He lifts his hand from the edge of the counter behind him and up to touch at the bottom hem of Shizuo’s vest, to fret his fingers just against the seam at the edge of it so he can trace against the line of Shizuo’s hip, can feel the strain of tension in the other’s body. “So are you going to actually hit me this time, or can we skip right to the fucking already?”

Shizuo’s growl is a raw thing, low and dark in the back of his throat; when he smacks at Izaya’s wrist it knocks the other’s hand wide and sends it swinging back so hard Izaya thinks he’d slam his knuckles against the glass behind him if it weren’t for the way Shizuo’s fingers catch at his wrist to stall the motion to stillness, his hold as certain and unflinching as a steel cuff.

“Shut up,” Shizuo says. When he pushes in the weight of him urges Izaya back over the counter, knocking the other’s balance tipping so far back Izaya thinks he’d be in some danger of falling if it weren’t for the impossible pressure of Shizuo before him to lock him in place. “This isn’t some fucking  _flirtation_.”

Izaya raises an eyebrow. “No?” he says. “My mistake.” He lifts one foot off the floor entirely, trusting his precarious balance to the force of Shizuo leaning into him; it’s a safe bet, all things considered. Izaya’s never known Shizuo to voluntarily retreat from proximity like this in the past. When Izaya shifts his leg Shizuo’s breath rushes out of him and his head ducks down sharply to track the motion; Izaya tips back a little farther, angling to let a little more of the illumination overhead spill between them to highlight the angle of his leg sliding up between Shizuo’s thighs, of his knee tipping in to slot between the other’s legs. “It’s always so hard to tell with you if you’re enraged or just ragingly aroused.” His thigh slides up, his knee pressing between Shizuo’s braced-wide legs to dig in against the fall of the other’s pants, to pin the loose of the fabric tight to the strain tenting the front of the dark fabric; Shizuo’s lashes dip, his breath rushes into a broken-off groan in his throat. When his hips come forward the motion is hard enough to shove Izaya back another inch over the counter.

“Never mind then,” Izaya says, and lets his bracing hand behind him go to trust himself to Shizuo’s lingering hold on his wrist while he reaches out to grab at the other’s hip instead, to dig his fingers in against the sweat-damp white of Shizuo’s shirt and pull to urge that adrenaline-tense body in closer to his, to pull them into grinding proximity as his thigh slides up to rub hard against Shizuo’s cock weighting against the thin fabric of the other’s slacks. Shizuo’s head ducks farther forward, his mouth comes open on voiceless heat; Izaya arches himself in closer, curving up against the edge of the counter to match himself to the whipcord tension of Shizuo’s body before him, to break the wave of his motion on the unrelenting cliff-face of Shizuo’s form. “I guess you win, then.” Izaya tips his chin up, offering the huff of his breathing to spill hot across Shizuo’s lips before his own. “You can go ahead and follow through on all those threats you’re so fond of anytime, now.”

Shizuo hisses past the brace of his teeth against each other, his hand comes down from the indentation he’s made in the stall next to them. Izaya wonders for a moment if that fist is going to crush into his ribs, if he’s going to have the air swept out of him by the blow of Shizuo’s steel-strong knuckles shattering the fragile cage of bone around his lungs; but Shizuo’s hand unfolds instead, his palm sweeping down to smack hard against the counter just alongside Izaya’s hip instead of to bruise at the other’s skin or crush into the give of his bones. Shizuo’s breath rushes out of him, his shoulders tip in; for a moment Izaya’s pressing flush against the whole of Shizuo’s chest, his body pinned tight to the crisp lines of the other’s uniform.

“What’s the matter?” Izaya asks. He flexes his leg where it’s pinned high between Shizuo’s thighs, just for the satisfaction of watching the other’s expression shudder over heat, of watching Shizuo’s lips tremor over an almost-grimace of desire. “Did you forget all your grand plans for revenge?” He lets his hand slide in sideways, lets his fingers catch and weight against the dip of Shizuo’s spine under the loose of his shirt and the smooth-slick of his vest. “You’re like a dog that doesn’t know what to do when he finally catches up with the cat.”

Shizuo’s hiss is closer to irritation, now, than the heat it was before. “Shut  _up_ , Izaya.”

Izaya flashes his teeth in a grin. “Make me” he says; and he’s going slack at once, letting the tension in his body give way in immediate anticipation even before he hears the growl in Shizuo’s throat, even before the hand at the counter swings up to grab at the back of his head and drag him in by force. He’s still grinning when Shizuo’s mouth crushes against him, the sharp edges of his teeth catching to bruise hard against the give of the other’s lips; Izaya can hear the huff of hurt in Shizuo’s throat, can taste the start of blood against his tongue, but Shizuo doesn’t pull away, doesn’t free Izaya from that unflinching grasp he has at the back of the other’s head. He just tips in, angling himself into alignment with Izaya with the clumsy insistence of force, and Izaya lets his grin go, and lets his lashes dip, and lets himself surrender to the weight of Shizuo’s mouth against his. It’s too much, it’s too much force and too much strength, unrelenting and unbreakable even if Izaya were trying to pull free; but he’s not trying to break away, he’s not trying to struggle for freedom. He’s giving in, giving over the tension of the chase and the adrenaline of anticipated violence for surrender, for softness at his lips and slack heat in his body, and when Shizuo growls satisfaction in the back of his throat and licks against Izaya’s mouth Izaya parts his lips at once to let the taste of Shizuo’s touch fill the whole of his mouth. Shizuo’s hold at Izaya’s wrist gives way, his fingers easing so he can reach and clutch hard at the other’s waist to drag him in closer, but Izaya doesn’t reach to brace himself or to work a weapon free of his pocket; he’s stretching out instead, lifting his arm to catch around Shizuo’s neck and wind his fingers up into a fist on yellow hair to match Shizuo’s hold on him, holding his head in a hand strong enough to crush steel without thinking, to shatter iron without hesitation. Izaya’s hold is nothing in comparison, something Shizuo could shake off as easily as he might brush aside the weight of a fly landing at his hair; but when Izaya pulls at the fist of yellow hair Shizuo groans in the back of his throat, and when Izaya tightens his grip Shizuo tips forward in the appearance of obedience to urge them both back until they’re almost lying across the counter. Izaya makes a sound in the back of his throat, some low noise of heat he doesn’t try to restrain from the moan it tastes on his tongue, and when Shizuo draws back to gasp against his mouth he lets his lips curl up onto a smirk as sultry as the dip of his lashes as he looks up at the other.

“I take it back,” he says, feeling the words purr in his chest and not trying to call them back to anything like control. “It seems like you  _do_  know what to do with me after all.” And he’s lifting his head and opening his mouth to catch the curve of Shizuo’s lower lip between his teeth before he bites down hard against the soft of it. Shizuo growls at the pressure, the sound rough with the ache of the contact but nothing like pained enough to be true hurt, and when he moves it’s to crush Izaya back harder against the counter, to pin their bodies so near that Izaya can feel the rhythm of Shizuo’s breathing against his chest. Shizuo’s hips rock forward, his whole body shifting into a smoothly graceful motion guided more by instinct than thought; Izaya can feel the heat of the other’s cock digging in hard against his thigh, can feel the outline of it pressing against him with unmistakable clarity. He curves up to meet it, letting his body rely on the brace of Shizuo’s hold as he arches himself up with fluid elegance; Shizuo gusts an exhale at Izaya’s lips, the heat of it spilling over Izaya’s tongue and down his throat as if to fill his lungs with the humid weight of the other’s desire, a precursor to what they both know is yet to come. Izaya lets the edge of his teeth at Shizuo’s lip go, and lifts his chin in offering instead; and when Shizuo ducks in to crush a kiss to his mouth again he lets that come too, lets his attention to the moment give way as fast as Shizuo’s mouth persuades him to it. Shizuo is kissing him back over the counter, is leaning in to urge Izaya back until his shoulders are almost flush with the smooth-polished surface behind him; and his hand is sliding down, his fingers marking out the curve of Izaya’s spine and down to the hem of his shirt, to the loose fall of the fabric covering the heat of the other’s skin.

Izaya groans when Shizuo pushes his shirt up, shuddering bodily with the weight of the other palming rough against the dip of his ribcage and the angle of his waist; Shizuo’s hips buck forward hard, as if the other is responding more to Izaya’s reaction than to his own conscious thought. This time when their mouths come apart Shizuo kisses at Izaya’s jaw, bruising force against the line of the other’s neck as if he intends to mark the pale of Izaya’s skin with the print of lips and teeth and tongue alike, and Izaya turns his head in surrender, making an offering of the rhythm of his pulse in his throat while he frees a hand from Shizuo’s hair so he can reach out and sideways for the heap of foil packets in the polished bowl at the corner of the counter behind them.

“Here,” he says, his voice cracking to shadow in the back of his throat as he grabs at a handful of the packets; when Shizuo lifts his head to blink hard at him Izaya reaches out to shove them at the other’s chest. “Use this.”

Shizuo’s head tips down, his forehead creases. “What…?” he starts, as he lifts one of his hands from sliding up under Izaya’s shirt to catch the offering the other has made instead. He frowns at the packets for a moment, looking like he’s struggling to read the labelling before he understands what they are. His head comes up, his gaze skips to the bowl in the corner; Izaya watches understanding break over the other’s face as Shizuo stares at the packets of lube. “You can’t be serious.”

Izaya raises an eyebrow as high as it will go. “I’m always serious about sex, Shizu-chan.”

“No way,” Shizuo says, and throws the packets down to scatter over the counter. “I’m not going to fuck you in some hotel bathroom.”

“It’s seen worse,” Izaya tells him. “It’s a love hotel, this is what it’s  _for_.” He lays his palm close against Shizuo’s chest, pressing hard to pin the white fabric against the span of the other’s body as he slides down to trail against the line of the other’s chest. “Are you honestly saying you want to wait?” His fingers dip down, his wrist twists; when he skips over the waistband of Shizuo’s pants he can see the dip of the other’s lashes on surrender, can hear the huff of heat in Shizuo’s throat as Izaya’s fingers press hard against the outline of his straining cock through his clothes. Izaya sets his teeth against his lip and bites down for the friction against the sensitive skin as he curls his fingers in to cup against Shizuo’s length, to slide his palm down the other’s shaft to seek out the heat of his balls through the sleek fabric. Shizuo’s hips jump forward, Shizuo groans an exhale; Izaya grins past the dig of his teeth at his lip.

“Come on,” he purrs, arching up off the countertop to press himself flush against Shizuo, to let the other feel the heat of his own arousal pinning close to Shizuo’s hip. “I know you want to.” He tightens his fingers to squeeze against the weight of Shizuo’s balls against his fingers. “I can  _feel_  you want to.” Another shift of his hips, another arch of his spine; Izaya’s breathing harder on anticipation, his heart is racing in his chest with every breath he takes, but Shizuo is all but panting against him, and he can feel possibility turning to certainty with every shift of his weight. “You could have me right here, right now, Shizu-chan, just push me down over the counter and sink your cock all the way into me at once.” That makes Shizuo’s cock jerk and drags a growl of heat from the other’s throat; but Izaya’s losing patience himself, and he doesn’t hesitate in the spill of his words any more than he stalls in the rhythmic undulation of his body grinding against Shizuo’s. “I’m so hard I bet I’d come just from that. Can you imagine it, Shizu-chan? Just one thrust and you could have me coming around your cock, I know you love that, you love  _fucking_  me through it, until I’m begging you for more, until I’m moaning your name, come  _on_  Shizuo just  _take_ \--”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Shizuo spits; and there’s a hand grabbing at Izaya’s hip, fingers digging in deep against the dip over his hipbone and shoving so hard Izaya doesn’t have a chance to loosen the weight of his fingers in Shizuo’s hair before he’s being forced over. Izaya can feel the jerk of it, the force of his grip yanking painfully at Shizuo’s scalp as the other flips him over; but Shizuo doesn’t so much as hiss in acknowledgment of the force. He’s pushing in instead, pinning Izaya in against the edge of the counter by the simple expedient of rocking his hips in hard against the curve of the other’s ass, and Izaya is huffing a breathless laugh even as Shizuo fumbles a hand around his hip to drag the end of Izaya’s belt free from its buckle.

“I knew that’d get to you,” Izaya purrs. Shizuo yanks the belt open and leaves it to dangle half-undone from Izaya’s belt loops; when he pulls at the other’s fly Izaya can hear the grate of metal protesting too-rough use. “You always do like to prove your dominance over me.”

“Shut up,” Shizuo hisses. He forces Izaya’s button free of the buttonhole and grabs a handful of the other’s clothes to shove them down and off his hips. “Like you don’t get off on it.”

“I never said I didn’t get off on it,” Izaya admits at once. Shizuo’s hand pushes down to force the weight of his clothes off his hips and down his thighs to leave the curve of his ass bare for the other’s use; Izaya gets his hands flat under himself to steady his weight so he can rock in and back to grind himself against the length of Shizuo’s cock still pinned back by the restraint of the other’s slacks. “I intend to enjoy myself  _thoroughly_. Why do you think I led you here in the first place?”

Shizuo snorts. “You didn’t lead me here,” he says, and reaches out for one of the packets of lube scattered over the counter. “I  _chased_  you here.”

Izaya grins. “Is that so,” he drawls. “So it was your subconscious we have to thank for this opportunity?”

Shizuo hisses irritation. In his hand the packet squeaks protest before popping under the press of his grip to spill lube across his palm and fingers alike. “Shut  _up_ , Izaya.”

“I told you before,” Izaya says, and rocks his weight back to grind against Shizuo’s cock behind him, to fit the heat of the other’s length against the cleft of his ass. Shizuo groans in the back of his throat and clutches at Izaya’s hip to brace him steady as his hips buck forward, as his body crests in helpless want against the give of the other’s before him; Izaya’s lashes flutter, his cock twitches against the cool edge of the counter. He ducks his head and presses his lips together as he swallows hard; when he speaks his voice is ragged and he doesn’t try to smooth it. “Make me.”

“Fuck,” Shizuo says succinctly; and he tosses the broken-open foil away across the counter and reaches down for the tension of Izaya’s body. His touch is unerring, the physicality of his instinct serving him as well in this as it does in fights; it’s like the messy slick at his fingers is drawn as if by a magnet to the closest entry to Izaya’s body, as if he is following the insistence of his subconscious to find his way to that means to win at least temporary incoherence from Izaya’s throat. His fingers drag over Izaya’s entrance, the blunt weight of his touch curling with rough intent as he seeks out traction against the other, as he reaches for a handhold; and then the tip of a finger catches, his hand lines up with the other’s body, and he shoves up and in with abrupt, reckless force. Izaya’s eyes go wide, his hips jerk in some instinctive almost-retreat; but Shizuo’s inside him already, the whole length of his middle finger sunk into the other’s body while Izaya is still clenching reflexively against the sudden, startling intrusion. Izaya can feel the friction inside him, can feel the drag of fullness pressing up and into the give of his body while he’s still gasping breathlessly over the force of it; and then Shizuo’s hand shifts, his finger flexes, and Izaya groans in answer as his own hands tense and strain against the counter under him.

“Shit,” Shizuo spits; and he’s pulling back, his touch sliding back out of Izaya’s body with the slick wet coating his skin to guide his way. “You’re so ready for this.” Izaya would protest, would offer the explanation that it’s more Shizuo’s strength forcing him to open than his own deliberate will; but Shizuo’s hand is shifting to pull against his entrance, there’s the touch of another fingertip against the reflexive flutter of Izaya’s body, and whatever resistance Izaya might have intended to muster gives way instead to a moan of invitation in the back of his throat. Shizuo huffs a breath behind him, the sound low and pleased as much as it is a little bit shocked, and he slides his touch against Izaya’s body, tracing the strain of the other’s entrance with the texture of his fingertip. “You want another already?”

It’s hardly a question. Izaya thinks the upswing at the end of Shizuo’s words is more rhetorical than anything else, more something the other is asking himself than a sincere inquiry; but that fingertip is still trailing against him, and however much Izaya is straining around Shizuo’s first finger he can feel the ache of reckless want starting deep in his stomach, can feel the weight of it forming low in his hips to settle at the weight of his balls and twitch in the flush of his cock. He wants to feel the strain of it, wants the feel of Shizuo forcing space for himself within the tension of Izaya’s body, wants the strange, overtaken feeling of his own existence being spread open for someone else’s use; and when he moves it’s to let his head fall forward, to gasp a breath of air as he stares unseeing at the curl of his fingers on the counter before him. “ _Please_.”

“God,” Shizuo groans, “I fucking love it when you beg” and the taunt of his touch goes tense, his fingers press close together, and he’s driving up into Izaya with the full force of his arm behind the motion. It feels like a punch, like a blow forcing up into the strain of Izaya around him, and it arches Izaya’s spine on response, dragging his head up and back as he groans wordless heat towards the ceiling.

“Like that,” Shizuo says, his voice tearing to shadows in his throat; and he’s drawing back, sliding his fingers out of Izaya only to stroke back with more force again, to drive in to the full reach of the digits. He’s moving fast, setting a ruthlessly frantic pace that forces Izaya open more than persuades him into it, that spreads open the other’s body while Izaya is still panting and quivering from the first intrusion; Izaya can feel his cock twitching with each stroke, can feel the heat low in his belly burning hotter with each drive of Shizuo’s fingers into him. “I almost like you when you’re like this.”

Izaya huffs an exhale; he intends it to be a laugh, but the strain of amusement is stripped away from him by the work of Shizuo’s fingers and all he’s left with is trembling heat in the back of his throat. “There’s our solution then,” he manages to force out past the strain in his chest. “You’ll just have to fuck me all the time and all our problems will be solved.”

“Yeah,” Shizuo says. “That doesn’t sound so bad right now.” His hips rock forward to grind in against Izaya’s body again, just over the rough pace he’s setting with his fingers; Izaya whimpers a moan and tips himself back, as much to feel Shizuo’s cock pinned against him as to press deeper onto the force of the other’s fingers. “It’d keep you from causing trouble, at least.”

“That’s right,” Izaya pants. “I can’t be stirring up problems in your precious city when I’m coming around your cock.” Shizuo’s fingers pump up into him; his thighs jerk, his breath hisses. “Or your fingers.”

“Fuck,” Shizuo groans. “Why are you so--” and then there’s a rattle at the door, the click of a latch turning. Shizuo hisses a breath, his motion stalling as his attention swings towards the door; Izaya just lifts his head to look into the mirror and watch the reflection of the door coming open and a man stepping forward and into the bathroom. His head is ducked down as he steps through, his gaze fixed on the motion of the handle in his grip; and then he lets the handle go, and his head lifts, and he looks up and sees them both.

There’s an interesting range of emotion that spills over his face. It’s Shizuo he looks to first, his gaze swinging up to meet the half-horrified stare the other is giving him; but Izaya can see curiosity starting in his eyes, can see the flicker as surprise gives way to confusion about what he’s seeing enough to pull his attention away from Shizuo’s face. The man’s focus drops immediately to the strain of Shizuo’s arm, to the pale of Izaya’s bare skin laid on display before him; and to the bruising grip Shizuo has on Izaya’s hip, and the slick coating Shizuo’s hand and Izaya’s body where the other has two fingers pressing into him. The blood drains from the man’s face, leaving him ghostly white for a moment as his mouth falls open; and then comes back at once, coloring him to scarlet as his focus jumps back to Shizuo’s face again. There’s absolute silence for a moment, as Shizuo is apparently as dumbstruck by the interruption as the stranger is by walking in on them; and then Izaya flattens his hands against the counter, and lifts his chin to toss his hair back, and speaks loud into the echoing quiet.

“He’s kind of in the middle of something,” he says, with the most drawling tone he can muster. “Do you mind?”

The man’s gaze jumps sideways this time to swing around to Izaya’s face. He’s looking at them directly, not through the reflection, but even at an angle Izaya can see his eyes go wide with recognition, can see shock giving way to sudden epiphany.

“You’re--” The stranger takes a step backwards to run up against the door behind him. “Orihara Izaya.” His head turns, his focus lands on Shizuo again. “And you’re that Heiwajima monster.” His gaze falls to Shizuo’s fingers again, where the strain of them is still holding Izaya open for the other’s touch. “You’re--”

“Fucking,” Izaya cut him off sharply. “Or we will be, if you ever leave long enough for him to get his cock up my ass. Either get out or sit down and shut up so we can get on with it, I want to  _come_.”

The man makes a sharp, half-strangled noise; Izaya thinks it might be the closest he can draw to coherency, under the circumstances. But he gets his hand on the doorknob in any case, and twists to stumble out and around the corner almost before it’s open; and then the door is swinging shut again, and Izaya and Shizuo are left alone in the bathroom once more.

Shizuo gusts an exhale. “ _Fuck_.”

“I know,” Izaya says, deliberately misunderstanding the strain on Shizuo’s tone. “I thought he’d  _never_  leave.” He lets his head drop again and rocks his weight back against the angle of Shizuo’s fingers. “Hurry up and finish prepping me.”

“What?” Shizuo blurts. “We can’t keep  _going_.”

Izaya cranes his neck to look over his shoulder. “Why not?”

“We just got  _walked in on_ ,” Shizuo hisses. “What if I was already--”

“Inside me?” Izaya prompts. “Then he would have seen you fucking me senseless over a counter instead of just teasing me with your fingers.” He shoves back again, with more force this time to suggest Shizuo’s next action. “Keep  _going_.”

“Fuck,” Shizuo blurts; but his hand at Izaya’s hip tightens, and that’s agreement enough even before he slides his touch inside the other again. “You can’t tell me you don’t mind getting seen like this.”

“The only thing I mind is that you  _stopped_ ,” Izaya tells him. “You could fuck me in front of the entire population of Ikebukuro if you wanted to, Shizu-chan.”

Shizuo huffs a breath of shocked laughter. “You’re that much of an exhibitionist?”

“Maybe I just like your dick too much to care,” Izaya suggests, and shoves himself back onto Shizuo’s fingers, hard enough to rock himself back against the reassuring strain of Shizuo’s cock behind him. “ _You_  don’t seem to mind that much yourself, for all your complaining.”

Shizuo groans. “ _Izaya_.”

“Fuck me,” Izaya suggests. “Come on, Shizu-chan, just give it to me. Don’t you want to make me scream for you?”

“Damn it,” Shizuo growls; but he’s sliding his fingers out and back of Izaya’s body, and in their reflection Izaya can see his head ducking down as he reaches to fumble at his belt one-handed. “Someone could come back in anytime.”

Izaya huffs a breath in the back of his throat that breaks on a laugh. “You better go fast, then,” he says. He reaches sideways for one of the foil packets scattered over the counter so he can offer it back as Shizuo gets his slacks unzipped and wrestles the length of his cock free of the clothing. Shizuo reaches for it without looking, crushing the packet in his fist as he brings his hand in over himself, and in their reflection Izaya watches the wet drip off Shizuo’s hand to slide down over the swollen purple-red of his cockhead. Shizuo tosses the spent packet aside and closes his hand around himself to stroke wet up and over the full straining heat of his length, and Izaya has to drop his head down, has to shut his eyes and breathe deep just to hold back the tension of arousal in him to a manageable level. His own cock is straining at his hips, so hard with anticipation it’s almost brushing the taut flat of his stomach; and then Shizuo’s hand at Izaya’s hip jerks to pull the other backwards by an inch, and Shizuo’s guiding himself up and in to press the wet heat of his cockhead against the fluttering tension of Izaya’s entrance. Izaya reaches up to press one hand flat against the mirror in front of him, fingers spreading wide in some half-formed instinct to brace himself against the force of Shizuo’s movement; and then Shizuo’s hips buck forward, Shizuo’s cock penetrates the tension of his body, and Izaya’s groaning, air spilling from his lungs and past his heat-parted lips as Shizuo sinks into him.

The pressure is straining the limits of Izaya’s body, he can feel himself opening wide to the demands of Shizuo’s cock pressing into the intimate spaces inside him; and Shizuo keeps coming, as he always does, longer and thicker and hotter than Izaya’s memory can ever properly recall. He’s too much, too big and too hot and too real; and yet Izaya’s taking him, arousal and the wet of Shizuo’s fingers softening the natural resistance of his body to let the whole of the other’s length spear up and into him. Izaya’s panting for air, his heart is pounding in his chest; and then Shizuo pauses, hissing far in the back of his throat with something a little bit frustration and all determination, and he lets his bracing hand at the base of his cock go so he can reach for Izaya’s hip instead. His grip brackets the other in place, his thumbs dipping in just over the angle of Izaya’s pelvic bone before him; and “Okay?” he asks, in the rough, raw tone he always has, when he asks this.

Izaya tightens his fingers against the mirror and struggles himself through a breath. It’s hard to fill his lungs, hard to reach for coherency, but: “Shizu-chan,” he grates out, feeling every word like it’s thrumming around that heat filling him, like he’s forcing them free from the strain of Shizuo’s cock half-buried inside him. “ _Fuck_  me.”

It’s not an answer, not really. Izaya doesn’t know if he’s okay; it’s impossible to say, when they make it this far, when he can feel his grasp on his own sense of identity disintegrating to leave him just the outline of heat, the knot of want in his balls and the intrusion of Shizuo’s cock pressing into the give of his body. But he knows what he wants, can define it with the same clarity he can feel Shizuo’s matched desire throbbing heat within him; and the words are enough to draw a groan from Shizuo’s throat, and to draw his hips back to slide his cock half-free of the other. Izaya gasps a breath, filling his lungs with the opportunity presented by the sudden emptiness inside him as he braces that shaking hand flush to the mirror; and then Shizuo’s hands tighten, his fingers dig in like a promise, and it’s just as he starts to thrust forward again that the bathroom door swings wide again.

“There,” a voice says, taut on satisfaction at being right. “I  _told_  you.” There’s a crowd at the door, a double handful of men pressing in past the entrance, where the door is being held open by that first visitor, the stranger who stared so long at Shizuo fingering Izaya open; and behind Izaya Shizuo’s hips snap forward, his motion too certain to hesitate even at the sudden interruption. His cock plunges into Izaya, his body forces the other’s open around it; and Izaya’s eyes blow wide, his mouth drops open on the rush of heat that spills through his veins at the drive of Shizuo into him. His shoulders jerk, his cock twitches; and he’s coming just like that, spurting his release across the mirror in front of him under the gaze of their sudden audience. Shizuo’s inside him, the mirror’s in front of him, a crowd of a dozen is pressing in against the wall behind them both, and all Izaya can do is shudder and quiver with the force of his orgasm.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Shizuo hisses. His hands are still hard at Izaya’s hips, his body is tipping in as if to shield the other from view; when Izaya struggles himself towards clarity of vision again he can see Shizuo turning his head to glare at the others behind them, as if his gaze will carry the same dismissive weight as his fists. “Get  _out_.”

“No way,” someone in the crowd says, apparently made brave by the others around him. “That was  _hot_.”

“I want to see you fuck him,” someone else says; the first stranger, maybe, though Izaya can’t place him, now, amidst the sea of dark eyes watching them. “Make him come again.”

“It’s a public bathroom,” a third says. “If you’re going to use it for this we can use it too.”

Shizuo growls, a deep sound in the back of his throat. Izaya can feel the strain in the other’s body, can feel rising anger in the pressure of those hands holding tight over his hips; Shizuo’s turning away, shifting as much as he can to hiss at the others in a futile attempt to get them to leave. Izaya can feel his grip sliding, can feel the pull as Shizuo starts to draw back and out of him; and he gasps a breath, and snaps “ _Shizuo_ ” with force enough to pull every eye in the room onto him. He has an audience, has a whole host of strangers staring at him with curiosity or amusement or hunger in their eyes; but when Izaya looks into the mirror it’s Shizuo he’s looking at, it’s the shadows of Shizuo’s gaze he holds. Shizuo’s face is flushed dark with embarrassment, his mouth is tense on protest; but he’s looking at Izaya, his attention fixed full on the other’s face, and that’s all Izaya wants to see.

“Shizuo,” Izaya says again; more softly, this time, now that he has the other’s attention. He takes a breath; he can feel the strain of the air inside him competing for space with Shizuo’s length. “Keep going.”

Shizuo grimaces, his forehead creases. “They’re  _watching_.”

“Let them watch,” Izaya says without so much as blinking away from the hold he has on Shizuo’s gaze in their reflection. “They don’t matter, Shizu-chan, just  _fuck_  me.” The crease at Shizuo’s forehead deepens, his mouth drags down at the corners towards a frown; Izaya struggles over a breath and braces himself against the mirror. “ _Please_.”

Shizuo’s breath rushes out of him at once, as if Izaya had shocked him, as if Izaya had landed the weight of a blow against his ribcage. He ducks his head forward; his hair falls in front of his face. “ _Shit_ ,” he hisses, the word dragging to something like fury in the back of his throat; and then his hands drag at Izaya’s body, his hips snap forward to drive into the other, and Izaya jerks with the force of the movement, his lashes fluttering at the feel of Shizuo moving into him. There’s a roar from over Shizuo’s shoulders, appreciation and entertainment and approval all at once; but Izaya isn’t paying attention to their audience, isn’t paying attention to anything at all except the thick heat of Shizuo working into him, of Shizuo’s cock stroking slick-smooth against his inner walls. His softening cock twitches, his balls tighten with the first suggestion of renewed arousal; and over him Shizuo groans, and ducks his head down to press hard at Izaya’s shoulder as he keeps moving with short, sharp thrusts into the other. There’s a savagery to his movement, a measure of anger, Izaya thinks, that is usually absent or long since bled off by this point in their interludes; but it just adds force to his motion, adds strength to his thrusts, until Izaya can feel the pressure pumping inside him without regard for the constraints of his body, without consideration of the rise of his own returning erection. Shizuo is just taking him, using the heat of Izaya’s body in pursuit of his own release; and then there’s a shout from the men behind them, “Look” coupled with a hand lifting to point at Izaya where he’s half-folded forward over the counter. “There, under his shirt.”

There’s a murmur running through the crowd, groans and commentary too heated to be coherent; it’s enough to lift Izaya’s head from its slack weight forward, enough to force him through the effort of blinking to bring his vision back into focus. His reflection gazes back at him, his eyes heavy-lidded and his cheeks as flushed as his parted lips; but Izaya’s not particularly interested in looking at his face, nor even at Shizuo’s ducked head as he gasps through the rough pace of his forward strokes. He’s looking down instead, tracking the guidance of the audience commentary to see what they’re talking about; and then his gaze comes into focus on the clinging dark of his shirt, and Izaya can see the motion of it, can see the shift of tension dragging against the thin of the fabric. His forehead creases, his mind struggling to make sense of what he’s seeing; and then Shizuo rocks forward with a growl, his cock slides far into Izaya’s body, and it’s as Izaya sees his shirt shift over the tension of his stomach that he realizes what it is he’s looking at.

Izaya can’t lift his gaze, can’t look away. There’s the flush of his cock visible too, the heat of it renewed and still clear even past the smear of his first orgasm drying against the glass of the mirror, and there’s the tension in Shizuo’s hands clinging to his hips; but all his focus is holding to the thin of his shirt drawn down over his stomach, and the movement of Shizuo’s thrusts nudging against the fabric with each forward rock of the other’s hips. Izaya’s heart is pounding, he can’t turn his head, can barely blink; and then Shizuo growls behind him, a “What?” that comes with a stuttering in the motion of his thrusts as he glances back over his shoulder at the crowd watching. “What are you all babbling about?”

Izaya presses his lips together and swallows hard. “Here,” he says; and he leans hard against his hand at the mirror so he can lift the other from the counter to catch at the hem of his shirt and slide it up away from his stomach. The fabric lifts, his shirt draws up over his chest; and the bulge at his abdomen is laid bare, where the thick of Shizuo’s cock is pushing up against the flat of his stomach. There’s a sound from someone in the crowd, something low and hot with disbelief; but Izaya’s listening for Shizuo, and Izaya hears the huff of Shizuo’s shocked exhale with crystal clarity.

“Is that--” Shizuo starts; and then he pulls back by an inch, withdrawing so he can take an experimental thrust forward. Izaya’s stomach flattens, his abdomen smoothing to its natural tension; and then Shizuo comes back into him, and Izaya watches the outline of Shizuo’s cockhead press into clear visibility against his belly. Izaya’s fingers tighten against his shirt, his breath rushes out of him in a shocked-desperate spill, and behind him Shizuo groans a sound of such heat Izaya can feel it tense down in the weight of his balls between his thighs. “ _Fuck_.”

“Keep going,” Izaya breathes, clutching at a handful of his shirt as if to brace himself by his hold on it. Shizuo does, pulling back and rocking forward more slowly this time, like he’s admiring the sight of himself breaching the tension of Izaya’s body; Izaya’s lashes flutter, Izaya’s cock twitches as if in answer to Shizuo’s motion. Behind him Shizuo groans again, sounding almost pained this time; at Izaya’s hip his hand loosens, his grip easing so he can draw his hand away.

“Izaya,” Shizuo says, his voice hot and dark at the back of Izaya’s neck; and then his fingers touch against the other’s stomach, his palm slides in to trace slick-wet fingerprints over the protusion of his cockhead bearing down against Izaya’s abdomen. Izaya jerks with the pressure, at the feel of his body being pinned between Shizuo’s cock and Shizuo’s hand, and Shizuo growls deep in his throat and tightens his hold.

“You like it,” he says, and it’s not a question at all, now. “You like this.” Izaya ducks his head into a helpless nod; Shizuo’s fingers spread wide against him, bracing at the flutter of heat at his stomach. “You like seeing me?” His hips pump forward, Izaya’s stomach jumps; Izaya can feel his whole body flex tight on the surge of arousal that hits him at the feel of Shizuo thrusting in against the weight of his hand. “You like seeing me inside you, Izaya?”

Izaya nods. “Yes,” he says, and he lets his shirt go to weight his fingers to his stomach, to press in against the tension of his body and cast Shizuo’s movement into starker relief. “Fuck, Shizu-chan, I do, I do like it.”

“You like people watching you,” Shizuo growls at his ear. “Don’t you?”

Izaya’s lashes flutter, Izaya’s throat works. “I do.”

“Like this,” Shizuo says. His hand slides up, his palm presses hard against the soft of Izaya’s abdomen; Izaya chokes for breath as his lungs flex with the pressure, but Shizuo keeps pulling, lifting the whole of Izaya’s weight up and away from that hand still bracing at the mirror. Izaya reaches down instead, clutching hard at Shizuo’s bracing wrist, but Shizuo doesn’t so much as flinch in the weight of his palm against Izaya’s abdomen. His fingers dip in hard, his hand pushes Izaya’s stomach in tight under his ribcage; and against Izaya’s abdomen, low in the soft space just over his hips, the length of Shizuo’s cock draws into visibility, distending Izaya’s body around the heat of its presence. Izaya shudders physically, his whole body quivering with the arousal that ripples through him, but Shizuo’s hand at his hip is there to hold him tight, and Shizuo’s palm against his abdomen doesn’t so much as waver.

“Watch,” Shizuo says, soft, almost against Izaya’s ear; and then, louder, turning out to growl at the room, “ _Watch_ ” as his hips draw back before he fucks up to move in the depths of Izaya’s body, to drag the action of his thrust under the give of Izaya’s stomach. “You want to see me fuck him, right?” His hips jerk, a short, stuttered action; Izaya can track the motion of it under his skin, can see the swell of Shizuo’s movement within his body. “Here, look your fill.”

“Shizuo,” Izaya says; or maybe he just forms the word at his lips, maybe he doesn’t succeed in giving it voice. It’s hard to tell, hard to listen; his heart is pounding too hard, his breath is coming too fast. It’s a struggle to catch an inhale with Shizuo’s hand crushing against the soft of his belly, impossible to think to speak when his balance is jolting with every upward stroke Shizuo takes into him; but Izaya’s cock is straining on heat, and he can feel the tension in him knotting tighter with every slide of Shizuo’s cock driving up and into him. In their reflection Izaya can see the blurred-out faces of the crowd, the wide eyes and gaping mouths; one of their audience has his pants undone, has his fist clutched tight around the flushed dark of his cock as he works over himself. Another has a phone out with the lens aimed at Izaya’s abdomen, where the strain of Shizuo’s cock is pumping inside him; but Izaya doesn’t care about the eyes on him, doesn’t care about the heat of wanting bodies filling the room or even about that camera trained on the proof of Shizuo working inside him. His gaze is coming back to straight ahead of him, where he can see his own body trembling in Shizuo’s hold; and he’s looking up and over his shoulder, to where Shizuo is pressing close against him and watching him with blown-dark eyes.

Shizuo’s mouth is red, his lips parted on the pant of his breathing; there’s sweat darkening his hairline, turning the gold of his hair to bronze where it’s sticking to his forehead and against the collar of his shirt. His cheeks are flushed, with embarrassment or arousal or both Izaya doesn’t know which; but his gaze is fixed on Izaya, his lashes dipping over his eyes to lock his attention on their reflection, where he can watch himself moving into the other. Izaya gazes at him for a moment, watching the heat in Shizuo’s eyes, tracking the color of want staining across his cheeks and soft at his mouth; and then he takes a breath, and says “Shizuo,” with clarity, this time. Shizuo’s gaze jumps up, his eyes meet Izaya’s in their reflection; and Izaya lifts his hand up and over his shoulder to wind his fingers into Shizuo’s hair.

“Please,” he says, shaping the word at his lips rather than giving it voice; but Shizuo is watching, and Shizuo understands. Izaya can see the heat in the other’s expression tighten, can see his lips press together on determination; and then Shizuo’s grip on him seizes tight, and he starts to move with force, harder and faster now than he was before. Izaya’s eyes blow wide, his attention scatters away from everything around him; there’s just the heat, the pressure and the rhythm and the flex of his stomach, the push inside him as Shizuo fills him up, as Shizuo’s cock drives into the soft of his body. There are voices, shouts and whistles and encouragement and leering; but Izaya’s ears are ringing, his back is arching, and he can’t spare attention for any of the details. His feet tense against the floor, his fingers fist into Shizuo’s hair; and his attention slides down, his focus dropping to that image of himself thrown back from the mirror. For a moment Izaya sees himself with perfect clarity, as the rest of the room is seeing him: flushed and shaking and hot with arousal, his whole body pink with the fever-heat in him, with the pleasure coursing through him from the force of the cock visibly working up and into him. Izaya stares at his reflection, at the weight of Shizuo’s hand and the grip of Shizuo’s hold and the movement of Shizuo’s cock straining at his stomach; and then Shizuo pushes up into him, and Izaya’s cock twitches hard in answer, and Izaya can feel his whole body tense on the force of the pleasure that hits him. His head goes back at Shizuo’s shoulder, his mouth comes open on a moan spilling up from that pressure inside him, and he’s coming again, his cock jerking through pulses of heat as his body convulses with the same. There’s a roar from the crowd, a shout of approval from their audience; but all Izaya hears is the huff of Shizuo’s breath at his ear, all he feels is that unbreakable hold keeping him still. Shizuo’s head turns in against his, Shizuo’s lips brush against his ear; and Shizuo keeps moving, neither stopping nor slowing, as if he doesn’t even feel Izaya clenching helplessly around the shaft of his cock.

Izaya feels dizzy, his thoughts hazy and his body weak, but he forces himself back to consciousness, forces his vision to clear as he lifts his head to blink hard at his and Shizuo’s joined reflection. Shizuo is still moving, his pace undeterred by the jolts of Izaya’s second orgasm or the tremors of exhaustion fluttering through the other’s body; but his movement is going frantic, now, is speeding towards some edge Izaya can all but see approaching for them. Izaya swallows hard, and licks his lips to steady himself; and then he frees his hold from Shizuo’s wrist, and lifts his hand to drop by inches, down to just over the softening weight of his cock. He touches his fingertips against his skin, pressing to feel the give of it over his hips; and then he draws his hand up, tipping his wrist to press his fingers in against his belly and cup the swelling of his abdomen at his palm. Shizuo groans behind him, a sharp, short note of appreciation; and Izaya presses in to slide the weight of his palm against Shizuo moving within him. Shizuo’s hips jerk, Shizuo’s cock jumps; and Izaya imagines he can see the first pulse of heat twitch at his abdomen, imagines he can see the spurt of movement as Shizuo groans at his hair and comes into him. Shizuo’s movement stutters, the unceasing rhythm of his thrusts giving way to stillness; and Izaya lets his eyes shut, and lets his head tip back, and lets the whole of his aching body go slack against the support of Shizuo behind him.

There’s a moment of absolute silence. Izaya’s heart is still pounding on the aftershocks of adrenaline in him, echoing the tremors still coursing through his shoulders and quivering in his thighs; but he doesn’t try to speak, and the only sound from Shizuo is the gasp of his breathing against Izaya’s ear. Izaya doesn’t look at their reflection, doesn’t listen for the sound of their audience; for the first span of time he doesn’t think about the onlookers at all for how lost he is in the sticky-warm ache filling the whole of his body. Finally Shizuo’s hand at his stomach eases, Shizuo’s fingers slide up to brace at Izaya’s chest; and it’s as the other takes a deep breath to speak that Izaya stirs himself enough to think of their audience.

“Get out,” Shizuo says, speaking clearly and coolly enough that Izaya doesn’t think for even a moment the words are intended for him. He opens his eyes to gaze up at the ceiling, to fix his attention idly to the glow of the overhead light while he listens to the sound of Shizuo’s words so near his ear and feels the purr of Shizuo’s voice against the other’s chest pressing to his back. “All of you. If you leave now I won’t have to come after you.” There’s a pause, a moment while the weight of this statement sinks in; and then a scuff of shoes, the patter of dozens of feet all trampling in the same direction at once. Izaya huffs a breathless laugh up at the ceiling as he listens to the sound of the onlookers absenting themselves; it’s only when the door swings shut behind the last of them that he tips his head back down to look at their reflection.

He’s a mess. It’s a good thing Shizuo has his arm up to brace across his chest; Izaya doesn’t think he’d be standing at all if it weren’t for that casual and unbreakable hold on him. His hand is still pressing to his stomach, his palm still weighting against the slow-softening heat of Shizuo inside him; the thought of it twitches heat against his spent cock for a moment as he huffs a breath of appreciation. His cheeks are flushed, his pants tangled around his knees; his head is canted back to weight at Shizuo’s shoulder. In his reflection his eyes look like shadows under the weight of his lashes; he gazes at himself for a moment before he lets his attention slide up to meet the focus of Shizuo’s eyes on him in the mirror. Shizuo’s lips are parted, his hair is tangled, his breathing still dragging rough in his throat; he looks as exhausted as if they’ve been fighting instead of fucking, as if he has ever been worn out by nothing more than a little violence. Izaya holds Shizuo’s gaze for a moment, just watching the other; and then he reaches for a smile, and pulls the corners of his mouth up on slow-spreading appreciation. “Enjoying the view?”

“Fuck,” Shizuo says, simply. “Here” and he tips forward to urge Izaya away from his chest and forward over the bathroom counter. Izaya lets Shizuo’s hair go so he can reach out and brace himself over the smooth surface before him; and then Shizuo is grabbing stability at both of Izaya’s hips, and Izaya is ducking his head down to watch the tension against his stomach. There’s a drag inside him, friction pulling at his inner walls and the outline of Shizuo’s cock inside his body sliding back and over his palm as the other draws out of him; Izaya shudders bodily with the feel of it, groaning with the loss and the relief at once as the intrusion of the other’s length slides back to leave him empty of anything but the lingering heat of Shizuo’s pleasure inside him. His hand presses hard against himself, his breath catches in his chest; and there’s weight against his back, the warmth of another body pressing close against his own as Shizuo leans in against his shoulders. An arm wraps around him, a hand catches his own still pressing to his stomach; and against his ear, the low heat of Shizuo’s voice tangling at his hair.

“Next time we do this at my apartment, Izaya.” The words are soft, almost a whisper, but they lose none of their force for all that; Izaya’s lashes dip, his head tips forward as he huffs a breath at the heat Shizuo’s voice tremors down his spine. Shizuo’s hold on him tightens, Shizuo’s hand drags Izaya back flush against his chest. “With the door locked.”

Izaya smiles over a voiceless laugh before he ducks his head into a nod of understanding. “Whatever you want, Shizu-chan.” Shizuo growls in the back of his throat, a wordless sound with more satisfaction on it than coherency; and when he ducks in against Izaya’s neck Izaya is quick to tip his head and grant Shizuo the space to press his lips close to the thrum of Izaya’s pulse under his skin.

It’s an easy surrender to make. After all, there’s only one person Izaya really cares about having for his audience.


End file.
